Beemer Sheemer!
by Star Song2
Summary: On and off the set of Boy Meets World- through the eyes of a girl with eyes only for hottie Adam Scott
1. Default Chapter

(AN: weird and about 5 years too late, but oh well. I don't own any of the characters except Marissa Chow, and apologies to all the real life people in whose mouths I put imaginary words. 1st chappie is short, sorry, but please review anyways!)  
  
Day 1: My Life  
  
Now, why can't my life be as perfect as that? I thought as I watched the scene from the side. I was hidden behind the fake wall of Feeny's classroom, still in my costume from earlier. My character, nameless for the purpose of the show, had once again merely wandered around the set's hallways at seemingly random times, dodging crew members and main characters and fetching coffee for assistants who were supposed to be fetching for producers.  
It's not as bad as I make it sound, actually. I mean, I never expected my being an extra on Boy Meets World to make my career as a Hollywood starlet- never particularly wanted it to either. The role is more a mutual favor between me and my Aunt Barbie (yes, I know. And yes, that is her name), one of the show's casting agents. She gets a free extra who doesn't make any trouble and I get to be on TV and make new friends.  
I've made some good friends, too, since the first season two years ago. I'm Will's age- Will Friedle, the guy who plays comedic doofus Eric Matthews. He's always seemed a bit too busy to hang around with a mere extra, but there's tons of other kids for me to talk to. Surprisingly- at least to me- one of the more interesting ones is Danielle, Topanga on the show. The first day we started shooting, my dog almost licked her to death. Now she's almost like a little sister to me. But the REAL reason I've been on the set more often these days isn't Danielle, the glow of TV less-than-semi-stardom, or even my occasional forays into the crew break room outfitted with leather couches, great food, and those fun little production chairs. It's a rationale that goes back as long as woman has roamed the earth: a B-O-Y.  
To be exact, he is newcomer Adam Scott, who began the 2nd season as a sporadic extra. More recently, he's been cast into the role of Griffin "Griff" Hawkins, the "lead bully of the school. Well, sure, if chasing girls and arranging fights counts as bullying.  
Adam is little known in the show biz- he did some commercials as a kid, but this is his first real TV part. My aunt found him through a modeling agency, and Adam did so well in reading and extra roles that she wanted him to have a larger role. His spectacular looks aren't a drawback at all, either.  
But more on that later, As I straightened from my hiding place, the actors broke character and the studio audience began standing and stretching. A glance at my watch told me that filming was over for the day- in other words, I'd better get back home to fix dinner.  
Trotting over to the office labeled "The Barbie Block", I waved at cast and crew alike before throwing a careless "I'm gone!" to Aunt's secretary. He smiled, and I grabbed my bag and was out the door. Even though I was 16 and had a car, I rode public transit to the set since driving in Angelic traffic isn't the best way to die. I mean spend an afternoon. Anyways, I always take DASH in or out of downtown, and then the local buses to my home near Chinatown.  
Guess I forgot to mention that I'm half Chinese; my father is descended from some of the first Asians to ever come to the US. He was raised in New York in a strangely Victorian family (could I make something this crazy up?), met my all-American mom in college, and they caboodled it out to Hollywood when they got jobs at Aunt Barbie's struggling starter agency. I was born in a little house right out of The Joy Luck Club, complete with Mah Jongg table. even if there weren't any garrulous females gathered around it gambling grocery money away. And I really suck at chess.  
But it's been a pretty cool life so far. My parents left Barbie's agency after she hit it big enough for us to afford a new house in Lincoln Heights. Dad went back to school and now he's a teaching professor at USC, working out of the nearby University Hospital. Mom works part time in a real estate office and waxes PTO in the rest of her time. I go to Lincoln High and split my free time between the library, Boy Meets World, and candy striping.  
This particular day was no different from most others. I prepared dinner when I got home, rice noodles and stir fry, finishing just as my mom walked in. Dad was working the late shift that week and wouldn't be home till later. Homework occupied me for a rather long time, as the end of the school year was approaching and I absolutely could not let my GPA drop anymore. That was one of the 'rent's concerns when I started BMW, but I pride myself on still being top ten in the sophomore class. Then, it was off to beddie byes and sweet dreams. 


	2. Author's Note

Um, hi. Ok so this is obviously not a continuation onto my story, but that's because I've run into a slight problem. Originally, Beemer Sheemer was going to be a story half on the set of BMW and half off. However, after writing most of the second chapter, it's not quite what I was going for. So here's the thing: I've got a pretty cool second chapter written that could be teased into the BMW story. However, it's pretty awesome by itself, and might actually take away from Beemer if I try to force it. Alright so how bout some help? I really like my BMW story- or, the character I'm focusing on- but it will be more fiction than fanfic. As I see it, I have a couple of choices. A) Follow the thread it's in right now, although it's not that BMW based. B) Keep the first chapter and turn the second into a new story, or C) Join them together and move it all to fictionpress.com as original fiction. If anyone is seriously interested, the lack of which makes all this moot, I will post the partially finished second chapter for your perusal. K, thanks! ~J 


	3. New Friends and Old

(AN: those of yall who know BMW real well will notice my titles are now episode titles or variations on them.again, sorry, I don't own them, but I think they work)  
  
Day 2: New Friends and Old  
  
I picked up Ditty on the way to school the next morning, honking in front of her house 'til she ran out looking suspiciously tousled and clutching half a bagel. She tossed her bag in the backseat before clambering into the front.  
"Marissa," she yawned, throwing ugly looks at my car interior. "When are you going to wheedle mommy and daddy into buying you a new car? Or at least, a sanitary upgrade?"  
I laughed. Ditty- Dorothy by birth, but who wants a name like that after Baum? Might as well name your kid Ozzie- is the freakiest neat freak ever. She doesn't give a monkey's uncle about her own room or possessions, but heaven forbid anything else around her be messed up. She's continuously tidying up everywhere she goes, from her friends' cars to unknown classmates' binders. While strangers often give her odd looks, we've decided that imposing our quirks on each other is fair trade.  
"I mean, if it weren't for me you'd never get anyone inside this dump. No one can even fit into the backseat!"  
A glance into the rearview mirror proved her right. The back was strewn with dirty clothes, broken sticks, and loose worksheets from school. "Keep your hair on, Ditty. You know I love my baby."  
"Baby," she snorted. "This old thing shakes so much I swear it's gonna come apart right in the middle of Manitou."  
"Ah, give it a rest already. You're hurting Barnacle Bob's feelings!"  
Ditty sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. Leaning forward, she snapped on the radio and flipped to KISS.  
"Oh TURN THAT OFF!" I yelled, punching at the controls. The one thing Ditty and I don't agree on is music. She likes pop, while I rarely listen to anything other than alternative or rock. Unfortunately, South Carolina as a whole isn't too fond of my tastes, and I'm often hard pressed to find any good music on the radio. So after buying my old clunker, I saved up money to buy a better sound system with CD player and usually don't play anything else.  
Today was no exception. After playfully wrestling Ditty away from the buttons and display, I slid in a CD and the sounds of Dave Matthews filled the car.  
"Aw, Mar, we never listen to my music! Give it a chance."  
"You want a ride anymore, lady?" I joshed her, turning into the school parking lot. Sophomore spots were way out in the boonies, so we had to walk across the lot to get to the entrance.  
Our school is- how shall I put it- stuffy. It's a pretty cool campus, no doubt, however disturbingly it looks like the one from the movie Clueless. Abraham Lincoln High is officially a math/science/technology Magnet, which unfortunately does not explain the vast numbers of idiots wandering the hallways. And yet it's probably better than most schools in that sense.  
We were joined in the quad by Tessa Curtis, whom I've known since 4th grade. At first a shy brunette, Tessa quickly gained friends in all circles. An avid gymnast, she recently made the varsity cheer team- to the amusement of those of us not quite as "well connected."  
"So when's the Showcase gonna start up again?" she burbled, swinging her hand bag.  
Ditty and I glanced amusedly at each other. Tessa's frivolity was infectious, making her a favorite at parties and shindigs. She was also the lead singer for my band, The * Showcase. (A/N: named after my friend's band, pronounced the asterisk showcase)  
"Summer as usual, T. We're thinking the second Saturday after graduation will be first rehearsal." We only met during the summer, since all of the members were busy during the school year. As a band, our music was rather unremarkable. Our "act" was the fact that every member was proficient on all the instruments and could sing as well, so we commonly switched parts during gigs.  
"We need to write some new songs, Mar. Covering The Beatles is getting old."  
Ditty sighed, bored. "Honestly, you two can't get together without mentioning your precious band, can you? May we PLEASE speak of something else?" Ditty hasn't a musical bone in her body, which only makes teasing her that much more fun.  
Laughing, we made our way to the sophomore wing. As Chow, Curtis, and Drayden, the three of us had always had lockers in the same vicinity.  
"Chem test today."  
"Oh, damn! I forgot." Ditty muttered, digging through her backpack for her notes.  
  
"Ten bucks says White's not here for class- again."  
"Yeah, I know. It's so friggin' annoying how she's always out the day of a test."  
We sat at the foot of Ditty's locker, chatting about everyday items. Soon Tessa wandered off to members of her cheer squad, and I was left with a Ditty frantically flipping through pages of disordered notes. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, sleep deprived as was the norm.  
"Hey, Marissa." A guy's voice interrupted my downtime. My lids flew open and I grinned widely.  
Before me stood a black haired, blue eyed genius with a mildly sardonic look on his face. "Mikey-boy! Skipping again, were we?"  
He shrugged carelessly. "Avoiding the ennui of secondary education." Nodding in greeting, "'Lo, Dit."  
"Don't talk to me- busy- " she managed, covering her ears while mouthing facts and figures in an attempt to cram.  
"Chemistry." I replied to his quizzical look.  
"Ah." One side of his mouth lifted slightly. "Old White's still at it, eh?"  
Before I could answer, the second bell rang signaling 2 minutes to the start of class. Ditty moaned, scooping her papers up. "I'll see ya'll at lunch- if I haven't dropped dead from testing, that is." With that, she hurried off in the direction of the science wing.  
"Allow me, madam." Michael gallantly held a hand out to pull me up.  
"Why, thank you kind sir." Smiling at our usual banter, we started towards Mr. Courtney's math class.  
Along the way Michael received not a few admiring looks. He's handsome, in a nerdy, aloof way. Always disregarding rules of fashion, he invariably dresses in somewhat baggy jeans and checked button down shirts. But more alluring to some is his endowment of brains or status of being Mr. Richie Rich.  
Although Michael was a senior, we had the same first period math class. He was in the multivariable level, which was not technically offered at our school. Thus, the multivariable calculus class of three took independent math studies during my pre-calculus class.  
Of course, that's not to say they actually DID anything. While the juniors and few seniors and sophomores in my class pored over trig functions, radians, logarithms, and derivatives, Michael, Trey, and Sarah played chess or finished homework for other classes.  
Mr. Stewart was out at a math workshop. The sub, an apathetic man in his early 30's, gave us a free day in deference to fond memories of his own high school. He then promptly swiveled around and ignored us for the rest of the period.  
"Hey, so," Michael said, walking up my desk and interrupting my own bout of chemistry crammage. "is the group doing a movie Saturday?"  
"Can't. I've got this screening thing on set all day. But ya'll can go without me." 'The group' consisted of Michael, Ditty and her boyfriend Sam, my band mates Sarah, Tim, and John, me, and occasionally Tessa and her current squeeze.  
"Oh, right, Mar. Like it'll ever get organized without you, Ms. Social Director."  
I laughed. He's called me that ever since after one of his more traumatic breakups, when I made it a priority to find him a new interest and set him up with every girl I knew. Although there is some truth to the nickname when it comes to my aptitude at getting parties and movie groups together.  
"Fine, then. Saturday night's always-"  
Michael's words were cut off by the entrance of one of the vice principles- so help me, there are about 20, and I've yet to learn their names- with a new student in tow.  
I shifted my gaze to the AP in preparation for the introductory spiel. And froze.  
This was impossible. There was no way that he was here, now!  
"Adam?" I whispered. 


	4. Home

(A/N: yes, it took awhile..and yes, its short. But as with most everything I write, I'm running out of juice so many apologies. Besides, it's not my fault I have band camp practically 24/7, now, is it? Thanks to Tessa and Cre8tvWrtr, my only recurring fan.I'm glad you like it! End.)  
  
Day 3: Home  
  
I glanced at my bedside clock before setting my pre-cal homework aside: 12:45. With any luck, I'd be asleep by 1:15- the end of a normal day for me.  
Giving a small sigh, I reached for my chemistry binder, only to toss it aside after a quick comparison between the joys of system equilibrium problems and those of my fish blanket and fluffy pillow. I staggered into the bathroom to brush my teeth before turning out the lights and crawling into bed.  
I've had the same bed since I grew old enough to leave the crib. It's an old bunk bed that came with our first house, and which we took with us when moving to Lincoln Heights. I really love it. The wood is old and cracked, finish is peeling, and all the bolts are rusted but there's just something so familiar and comforting in its peculiar creaks and groans that says home to me. I sleep on the bottom, but the top is where I go when I need to shut the world out and be myself.  
15. That was the number of slats above me. I had counted them endless times when laying on my back and thinking, and today I started again. One, two, three was the one with a large black stain, four, five had a knothole on the far right.  
Ah, yes. Number six. This seemingly innocent slat was one of the major secrets in my room, the other being of my chocolate and candy stash under my bed. But six- six was where once, surrendering to a random fit of Valleyism, I had started a list of all the guys I've ever liked. They included the sports teammates from elementary gym class, the popular guys that every girl falls for in 5th grade, the dream dance dates of middle school. I've always tried to keep people off my bed to keep them from seeing the juvenile list, which I've become rather embarrassed by. Seeing the very last name, however, made me smile wistfully. Written in silver pen were the initials M. W. "Wazowski, you didn't file your paperwork again"- just kidding. As much as I like small round green monsters, M.W. stands for my good friend Michael West.  
He especially is not allowed to see the list. I wrote him down during freshman year, after spending marching season with him on drumline. I had a serious- I mean SERIOUS- crush on him. Well, so did half of the line. But since Michael and I have become closer, it's tapered off to a really really really good friendship. I've just never told him.  
Thinking about Michael took me back to first period. Honestly, I hadn't strayed far all during the day- I just couldn't believe that Adam Scott was attending my high school. Or, according to the AP, "Taking advantage of our school's outstanding math curriculum and faculty".  
  
***  
He stood next to the AP, looking relaxed enough. Surprisingly, he dressed in pretty much the same style as Griff would in upcoming episodes. Most actors tend to leave their characters on set, but there were the slightly baggy cords and long tan suede jacket. His dark brown hair was middle length and spiked so the tips curved slightly.  
"You know him?" Michael asked, leaning in with a frown.  
"What?" I was, for once, paying attention to what the AP was saying.  
".part time student, Adam Scott."  
"I said, do you know him?" Michael said in a louder voice, drawing a glare from the AP.  
But I barely heard his words, and only filed them away. For Adam was asking the sub where to sit, and there was and empty desk right next to me.  
"Oh, just pick a spot, I don't really ca-are," the last bit drawn out with a sigh.  
Adam scanned the room, smirking slightly at the girls looking back with interest. Of course, I was probably one too.  
Maybe it was just my imagination, but I thought a small light of recognition and puzzlement crossed his face when he saw me. And amazingly, came to sit down across the aisle.  
He eased himself into the desk, one of those cold indestructible affairs with the attached writing surface and basket underneath. He slouched, then hesitantly turned towards me.  
"Aren't you-"  
"Marissa," I jumped in eagerly. "From BMW."  
Adam grinned. "Yeah, I thought so. You live around here?"  
"Yeah, in Lincoln Heights. But , uh, you don't, right?"  
"Well, we just moved here to allow me to go here and BMW."  
"Oh, sweet." I was oblivious to Michael still turned around and shooting me pointed looks until he tapped my desk. "Oh! This," indicating him, "is my friend Michael West. Michael, Adam Scott. He's an actor with Boy Meets World." "Anyone I should know?" Michael asked, holding out a hand but eyeing him warily. " 'Fraid not," Adam laughed, shaking hands. "I'm just another nobody that runs around the set trying to look like an "average" high schooler." "Yeah but that's changing soon." I was still almost staring at Adam. "Aunt Barbie's got you all set up for a guest spot." Adam and I chatted about the show for the rest of the period, with interspersed comments from Michael. When the bell rang, we all stood and picked up bags and books and left the room in a rush of sound. I had invited Adam to join our lunch table if he had C, but it turned out that 1st period was his only class. He had been home schooled his entire life, but had progressed beyond his mother's confidence level in math. So I had little to look forward to and much to gaze back on through 2nd to 4th period and Nutrition. Lunch rolled around, and I joined my usual table in the commons pit. It was a rather uncomfortable setting. Michael seemed to treat me with a certain detachment, and my usual lunch time chatter fell on otherwise deaf ears. Ditty was depressed by the impossibility of the chem test, Sam because she was, and John was upset about the extra band sectionals called in anticipation of their upcoming UIL contest. But not much could dampen my day, and it flew by quickly in daydreams. ***  
.and segued into dreams, as I pulled the sheets up and went to sleep. 


End file.
